This Matters to Me: Don't throw out a man's shirt

Thursday

Apr 24, 2014 at 4:49 PM

It has been written that men are from Mars and women from Venus. The author of this 1992 bestseller, John Gray, understood something that boys and men, especially those of us who are married, understand only too well. Males and females think and act differently. In most instances one might say, “viva la difference.” Nonetheless it is hard for me to comprehend how women consistently fail to understand the importance of a man's favorite shirt.

Edward Costar

It has been written that men are from Mars and women from Venus. The author of this 1992 bestseller, John Gray, understood something that boys and men, especially those of us who are married, understand only too well. Males and females think and act differently. In most instances one might say, “viva la difference.” Nonetheless it is hard for me to comprehend how women consistently fail to understand the importance of a man’s favorite shirt.

Maybe it’s just a private idiosyncrasy, but when I was a boy, there was always a sports related T-shirt that was worn almost daily. In fifth or sixth grade, my favorite was a blue and white football jersey with the number 25 ironed onto the back. As soon as I was home from school, the jersey would come on. Whenever my friends gathered to play touch football, I’d wear it. Despite many rips or tears, this never deterred me. After all, this was my lucky shirt.

My mother was the first woman in my life, and she taught me many wonderful things. From her, I first learned that women did not prize T-shirts the way boys did. Mom was an expert seamstress who spent most of her life working behind a sewing machine in a Fall River mill. A proud member of the International Garment Workers’ Union, she could create, fix, or patch up just about anything. Repair a hole in the knee of your jeans? No problem. Need a costume for Halloween? You got it.

Yet after frequently stitching the rips in my football shirt she finally gave up. I remember her saying, “I’ll buy you a new shirt.” A new shirt? This from the queen of the sewing machine? I knew then that she just didn’t understand. Once she refused to make additional repairs, I started sewing it up myself. The stitches resembled the scars on the Frankenstein monster.

Then one day it disappeared. My mother just got rid of it. After all, having her son wear this monstrous monument to ugliness probably did little to maintain her reputation as a super seamstress. Its loss was mourned. Despite having outgrown the shirt, it was no less treasured.

Time passed and there were other favorite items of clothing. In my closet are shirts, hats and jackets that all retain emotional value. They may not fit, but I can’t throw them out. My 1965 Durfee varsity jacket, something I wore to school every day for two years, is in there somewhere.

When women no longer favor a dress or when styles change, they seem to have less difficulty letting go. For them, shopping for new clothes seems to be a form of recreation. Give me a pair of jeans, a few T-shirts, and a comfortable pair of sneakers, and I’m good to go.

Still there are those specially favored T-shirts. A jersey purchased in Houston after attending the Patriots’ Super Bowl victory over Carolina is in that category. But the most precious of all my tees was acquired on Oct. 26, 2004 in St. Louis. This of course was the day that my beloved Red Sox won their first World Series in 81 years. My wife and I witnessed the clinching game. The tee is very light weight with images of a Sox and Cardinals cap on the front, with the words “2004 World Series” emblazoned on both sides.

This shirt has been worn everywhere: on vacation, to the beach, playing with the grandkids in the back yard, even as an occasional night shirt! After 10 years of being washed, spun and dried, it developed small rips, and several tiny holes. Even my Mom, if she were alive, would not be able to repair this shirt. Yet I keep it, and wear it around the house from time to time while doing chores, yard work or just hanging around. It always brings back fond memories.

The other day while throwing away some trash I noticed a wet rag amongst the empty milk cartons and used paper towels. It was my shirt. My dear wife, seeing this raglike tee, used it to sop up some mess, and just casually discarded it with the other refuse.

Fortunately, my shirt was rescued before it went out with the morning’s collection. Hopefully it will be salvageable. It would seem that the two most important women in my life had the same idea. Women just don’t understand. A man’s favorite shirt is not to be reckoned with. Mr. Gray knew. We are indeed from different planets. Then again, maybe that’s what holds us together.

Ed Costar is a retired Fall River educator and an occasional contributor to these pages.